Chapter Text
A Statement to the Citizens of Great Britain by HRH Prince Henry
Published on 16 September 2020
One month ago, there was a post on my Twitter account in which I claimed to be a gay man. In the weeks since this post, photos and rumors have spread that have increased the speculation surrounding my sexual orientation, all of which have been met with silence from the royal family and the Queen. I, first and foremost, would like to confirm these rumors.
I am gay. It is something that I had come to accept about myself years ago, but have not been permitted to discuss publicly. Instead, it was something that I kept locked inside, only allowing myself to be truly who I am around a few select and trusted individuals, all of whom I am eternally grateful for, watching with envy as others in my community love freely and out in the open. One month ago, despite the disapproval I have faced, I chose to throw caution to the wind and tell the truth about who I am. I will not apologize for my recklessness as I have not regretted it for a moment. I will not now, nor will I ever, apologize for who I am, nor should any queer person.
In history, only four British monarchs have ever abdicated. They have done this for a variety of reasons, some political or moral or religious. I, however, am happy to be remembered in history as a member of the royal family who has abdicated for love—love for the people of my nation, love for the world as a whole, love for a man.
There are countless people throughout the world who can not come out safely, who would never be able to leave their homophobic, transphobic, toxic environments behind and live their lives as freely, wholly themselves. My heart breaks for these people, and I recognize what a privilege it is to be able to do this. The ability to be who I am despite the disapproval of my family is a privilege that I have, and I have chosen to exercise it.
There are certainly those who use their royal title for good. I think of my mother, who I am sure will one day make an excellent queen, who advocates for other cultures within our country and for reversing the negative effects of colonialism that we are guilty of. I think of my sister, who has stood strong against criticism amid her struggles with addiction, and who has used the resources she has to aid others in this same struggle. For me, this title has not provided me with opportunity, but with a prison.
There are many causes and communities—LGBTQ+ people, immigrants and people of color, the mentally ill—that I have the desire to help, but was not able to because of my position and the crown’s policies. All of my life, I have ached to leave this world better than it was when I found it, to make a positive change in people’s lives. Now that I am free from a title and the responsibilities that come with it, I feel that I can finally do this, even if these changes come in small ways.
In the words of author Oscar Wilde, “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” In my position as a prince, I was simply going through the motions—making appearances where I was told to, shaking the hands of people that I should, saying the words pre written by someone who was not me. In this role, I was not serving the people, nor my family, nor, most importantly, myself.
I do not wish to simply exist. I want, more than anything, to live. I wish to speak my mind about the issues that I care about. I wish to have an effect on the world. I wish to love and have a life with and marry the man with whom I am in love. Now that I have shed the role that I could never fit myself into without hacking essential pieces of my person away, I am finally free to live the life I once thought was merely an impossible dream.
With gratitude and hope for the future,
Henry Fox
———
Henry wakes up slowly to the sun shining in his eyes, and he lifts his hand to shield his face, drowsily blinking awake. He flops his arm across the bed, groaning when he finds the left side vacant and cool to the touch.
He reluctantly throws the duvet aside, searching the floor for something to throw on, pulling on a pair of his joggers and an NYU jumper that could be either his or Alex’s. He yawns and runs his fingers through his messy hair as he rises from Alex’s—no, their—bed.
It took a long time to think of this room as theirs instead of just Alex’s with Henry as a guest or interloper. Even after Henry hung his clothes in the closet and put his books on the shelves and bought David a dog bed to put in the corner, he still had to remind himself that this place was his. Alex reassured and reminded him for months that he was safe here, that this was his home too, and he is finally starting to believe that, though he still slips up sometimes.
As he pads out of their bedroom and into the sun soaked living room, the hard wood floors chilling his bare feet, he wonders what it would be like if he and Alex had somewhere that was theirs alone. What it would be like to have a permanent home with him and the man he loves, somewhere that they could build a future and a family together. Maybe he’ll start looking after they both graduate.
He finds Alex sitting on the kitchen counter despite the plethora of seating in the apartment, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, looking down at it through the wireframes perched on his nose.
“Since when are you a morning person?” Henry grumbles, resting his hands atop Alex’s thighs, running his thumb over the seam of his boxers.
Alex puts his coffee mug on the counter, reaching over to run his fingers through Henry’s hair in greeting without looking up from his phone. “Since law school fucked up my sleep schedule,” Alex complains.
Henry hums neutrally, studying Alex’s pinched brow as he reads his screen. “What are you looking at?”
Alex wordlessly turns the phone so he can see the screen, and Henry reads the day’s headlines.
Claremont Nominates Ketanji Brown Jackson to be Next Supreme Court Justice
Princess Catherine Insists that Ex-Prince Henry Will Always be Apart of the Family
Prominent Conservatives Back Allowing States to Limit Guns in Public
Former Prince Henry and Boyfriend Alex Claremont-Diaz Step Out for Dinner with Friends in New York City
Henry reads the headlines and nods. “What’s your opinion on the justice your mum appointed? I think it was a good choice.”
Alex rolls his eyes as he locks his phone, setting it down on the counter beside him. “That’s what you took away from all of that?”
Henry shrugs, taking a step further into Alex’s space, and he spreads his legs to accommodate him. “They’ll get bored of me.”
“I don’t know,” Alex says skeptically, resting his arms on Henry’s shoulders, fingers running through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “You’re pretty interesting.”
“You’re biased,” Henry replies, leaning in. “Eventually. They can only write so many iterations of stories like ‘Man Goes to Farmer’s Market’ before people get tired of them.” Alex smirks, and Henry smiles back. “I fully intend to lead a very boring life.”
Alex leans down, their noses brushing together. “Not if I have anything to say about it baby,” he whispers, and Henry can feel his breath brushing over his lips.
When Alex closes the final millimeter of distance between them, pulling him into a deep kiss, he tastes like coffee and cinnamon, a now familiar combination that never fails to remind Henry of Alex.
Kissing Alex has become something that is familiar and routine, a natural part of his day as much as sleeping, eating, and breathing, but it still manages to feel new and exciting each and every time. Even after more than a year together, every time Alex’s lips meet his, butterflies flutter in his stomach and each of his nerve endings spark and catch fire.
This kiss is deep and passionate, but slow and languid, the kind of kiss that they share on lazy Sunday mornings, when they lay in bed and don’t even think of letting go of each other until the sun is shining high in the sky. Alex pulls him impossibly closer with his arms around his neck, and Henry follows pliantly, running his hands down Alex’s legs as they wrap around his waist, his entire mind, body, and soul surrounded and wrapped up in Alex.
Henry is just starting to slip his fingers up the bottom hem of Alex’s underwear when they separate with a jolt, someone slapping him in the back of the head as they walk by.
They both look up with matching perturbed expressions to glare at Nora, gliding past them to the coffee maker. She pours coffee into two mugs, handing one to June, who lifts herself up onto the counter opposite Alex, next to the stove. “No sex in shared spaces,” June explains. “Didn’t y’all read the roommate contract before you signed it?”
“No,” Alex answers flatly, not releasing Henry from his hold, forcing him to turn his neck to look at the other occupants of the kitchen. Henry had read the contract, but that was one rule that they’ve broken several times already.
Nora turns around and leans back against the counter between June’s legs, taking a nonchalant sip of her coffee. “Ignorantia juris non excusat.”
Alex rolls his eyes and flips Nora off, which only makes her grin. Henry steps back so that Alex can get off the counter, which he does, walking over to the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of eggs.
Since Alex started law school and Henry started his master’s program, they’d perfected their morning routine. Alex would make breakfast for everyone, since he was the only one who could cook, though Henry was slowly learning, and Henry would make him his coffee, setting it next to the stove with a kiss on the cheek. They eat together at the table with David eagerly waiting at their feet, and then they all part to get dressed for their days at work or school. It’s a routine that Henry has come to cherish, and he can imagine it continuing for hundreds of mornings in the future, changing and readjusting as their lives together evolve. It’s a seemingly silly, simple thing to be excited for—a lifetime full of boring, domestic mornings with Alex. Henry can’t wait.
Alex and Henry meet Cash outside and climb into the back seat of the black SUV. They hold hands through the short drive, with Alex grumbling how much faster and more convenient and economical it is to just take the subway.
The NYU campus is beautiful in autumn. It’s nothing like Oxford’s campus, with its regal architecture and pristine landscaping. Instead, it's an incongruent yet fitting mix of Roman columns and sleek, modern buildings of concrete and glass. It’s lounges with purple furniture and students of all ages resting under the shade of trees with leaves turning warm colors. As Henry walks down the Pavement, Alex’s hand in his as they weave around groups of people talking and boys on skateboards, he breathes in the crisp, cool autumn air and thinks about how much he loves it. How he doesn’t have to look at the world from behind a barrier anymore. He can be a part of it.
They reach the point in their walk where they have to part ways, Alex going to Contracts and Henry going to Queer Literature. They turn to each other and share a quick parting kiss, the kind of kiss that Henry remembers his parents having in front of the door, when they had to leave the house for their separate royal duties. Not a ‘goodbye’ kiss, but a ‘see you later’ kiss—the kind that Henry never imagined he’d be able to have with someone.
“You’re going to be at the shelter later right?” Alex asks.
“Of course love,” he answers, pushing a curl from Alex’s long hair away from his face, brushing his fingertips over his forehead needlessly. “I wouldn’t miss movie night.”
“Good,” Alex replies. He pulls him into another kiss, and Henry returns it fully, not giving any thought to who might be watching them. It doesn’t matter. “I’ve gotta go.” He pulls back and takes a few steps away from him, saying, “Love you.”
Alex doesn’t turn around and start walking toward his class in earnest until Henry says, “I love you too,” in return.
Henry is the first one to class, as he always is. He takes his usual seat and opens his laptop, clicking on his most often revisited word document—his book. It’s an anthology of queer love stories throughout history that he’s been working on it peripherally since his undergrad, but since moving to New York with Alex, he’s started writing it in earnest. He hasn’t told Alex this yet, but he finished the first draft a week ago, and his professor offered to read it for him.
He reads a few sentences here and there and, well, he thinks it’s pretty good. It’s a strange mix of history and fiction that he thinks works, though it needs editing and some rearranging and even more editing, but he’s proud of it. There’s just one thing missing—a love story that was in the back of his mind as he wrote every word, but never made its way onto the page. Maybe someday.
He scrolls up to the first page and types out a short dedication.
For my Alexander,
“Someone, I tell you, will remember us, even in another time.”
All my love,
Henry